


Lego

by LunarC



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Comedy, Dialogue Heavy, First Kisses, Fluff, M/M, Small amounts of gore, a feel good fic, bear traps, convenient alone time, stepping on lego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarC/pseuds/LunarC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl gets his leg caught in a bear trap, Rick almost breaks his ankle in a drain, however even in a world where the dead walk some things still remain the same. One important fact being: There is no pain worse than stepping on a lego and Daryl Dixon has got to learn...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lego

\--

“Don’t budge it,”

“I ain’t budgin’ it,”

“Go slower-fuckin’ damn it Rick-“

“Okay, okay sorry. Sorry it’s alright.”

“Don’t you use that cop voice with me, Grimes I swear.”

Rick looked up at Daryl, who was pouring sweat looking down at where Rick was slowly placing a thick log between the opened maws of bear trap. In which the hunter’s foot was currently trapped. The hunter had to stay perfectly still, weight balanced just right, to stop the trap from snapping closed and mutilating his leg or closing on Rick’s arm where he was attempting to jam the log in to stop it. 

It was an awkward position, Rick just about had his head against the other’s hip and they weren’t even sure the log was going to work out right. 

“Alright,” Daryl said. Taking a deep breath. “Gimme that stick over there.”

Rick nodded and quickly went and retrieved a long, thick, stick. 

Daryl took it and took a moment, glancing up at Rick where the officer stood in front of him. Rick’s shirt was wrapped around Daryl’s calf-where the trap would snap shut if this plan didn’t work out. 

Rick just nodded, trying to look confident and knelt, so he could hold one edge of the log in the trap, putting as much force on it as possible. Daryl nodded back. Biting his lower lip and gently easing the stick he was holding onto the pin he was standing on. 

The trap didn’t slam shut-but they were only half ways to clear. 

There was a pause, the hunter gathering his nerve, preparing to lift his foot off the pin. Rick licked his lips, sweat pouring off his brow in the summer heat and into his mouth. 

“You can do it,” Rick said and Daryl nodded once then quickly jerked his foot off the pin.

The trap snapped shut, but the log blocked it, thick enough to stop it closing all the way. Daryl just managing to get his leg free, though Rick’s shirt tore on the maws of it as he fell over. Tripping and ending up on his back in a heap on the ground.

Rick let go of the log and the trap slid more closed. Then dropped to sit on the forest floor, head between his legs. He laughed, heart beating rapidly while Daryl joined in, glancing up at Rick after a few seconds, blowing some hair out of his face. 

“Told ya, easy.” He grunted. Rick looked up at the hunter, who was sat up on his elbows. Smiling a rare Dixon smile.

Rick shook his head, grinning at him.

“How the hell’d you do that?” 

“Seen it done before.” Daryl said, smile slipping a little. “Merle got his leg trapped once, was screaming out to me for like an hour. Had to take a piss with one leg in a trap. Wouldn’t stop bitching about it for weeks.”

Rick smiled, nodding as he listened. Daryl got a little tight lipped, talking about his brother. He unwound Rick’s shirt from his calf. Holding it up in front of him. 

There was a tear just over the chest. Like a convenient costuming error from some cheesy 60’s show. Daryl snorted, throwing it to Rick.

“Sorry, I owe ya.” Daryl said.

“It’s just a shirt.” Rick said. It had a Christmas message on it. Wasn’t a favorite anyway. He pulled it back on, shirt sticking to the sweat on him. It was pretty damn hot today.

“Not just for the shirt.” Daryl replied. “You know, for gettin’ me out. Not quittin’ on me. Woulda been tough on my own.”

He probably could have done it though. Rick thought. Though he might not have made it back to the Prison if he had attempted it. Rick had spent almost an hour searching for Daryl after he checked some snares in the East and Daryl didn’t reappear after tracking some animal. There was no way he would’ve returned home without him. 

He only found Daryl because the hunter was standing dead still, whistling the way they did on runs to signify the coast was clear. Because yelling would’ve just got the man in a whole heap of trouble. If a walker had tackled him while he was in the trap there was no way he would’ve come out on top.

It was a strange sight, since Rick had come up on him from behind, Daryl just standing there, hands shaking a little with nervous energy, cross bow strapped to his back, one arrow in hand, whistling quietly while the sun poured down on top of him in the centre of the clearing. Birds chirping some way off, leaves rustling.

If he’d had a camera he probably would’ve taken a shot, since Daryl looked kinda serene, before Rick noticed the giant, brutal trap he was in.

“Yeah, well…” Rick got up, walking over to his friend and giving the man a hand up. “Wasn’t gonna leave ya, even though you looked real funny, standin’ there whistlin’ like that.”

Daryl snorted, dropping the man’s hand and fiddling with the handle of his hunting knife at his hip, scratching his nose self-consciously. Rick patted him firmly on the arm, smiling. “I’m just jokin’.”

“I know.” 

“But you did look funny.”

“Shut up man.”

“Like snow white, waitin’ for a deer.”

“I’ll put you in a trap, Grimes, see how you look.”

“No thank you.” Rick said, the pair of them beginning their trip back to prison, Rick picking up the rabbits he’d dropped earlier coming to help Daryl, brushing them off and swinging them over his shoulder while he spoke. “I wouldn’t have handled it half as well, tell you what. I stepped on a nail once, almost cried.” 

Daryl smirked again. “Done that too.”

“Ain’t nice.”

“Naw.”

“Like legos.”

“Never had that.” Daryl said, picking up a stick and using it to sweep the leaf litter in front of them for more bear traps, meandering slowly. The sun was getting low in the sky and the pair had silently decided that was enough for the day. They were doing pretty well on food back at the prison anyway.

“Carl did.” Rick said, “Used to find them everywhere, used to wedge ‘em into any hole big enough. Stepped on one in the bathroom, first time I ever swore in front of him.”

“Bet Lori liked that.” Daryl murmured. Lori was a sensitive subject, even if Daryl and Rick were slowly getting closer. It didn’t do to bring up sore subjects, but this seemed safe enough. Rick’s jaw tightened but he chuckled softly anyway.

“She didn’t find out until the next day. Carl kicked his toe and yelled ‘Shit!’,” Rick laughed again, Daryl’s lip quirked in a smile. “I told her he picked it up at school, bought him off with more legos.”

“Swore in front of my mum once.” Daryl said, “I didn’t get no legos though.”

“I’ll have to get you some.” Rick said. “Everybody needs to step on a lego at least once. It’s part of the human experience.”

Daryl hummed in response then stopped Rick. Frowning, he swept his stick across some uneven twigs and leaves in front of him, after he’d taken a few steps he hit the pin on another trap and the steel teeth slammed shut loudly. He checked around it, found the spike it was attached to and pulled it out of the ground. 

Rick watched him, confused, as the hunter took the trap and hung it over the branch of a tree. He returned to Rick’s side, glancing between the ex-officer’s expression and the hung trap.

“Just a marker, case we get lost out here, need to remember where they are. Could be hundreds.” He murmured.

Rick nodded, it was pretty smart. He wouldn’t of thought of it.

“Who you reckon put them out here?” Rick asked. Daryl shrugged as they kept walking.

“They’re old, triggers not too good, rusted. Could be owned land once maybe, might even have been for the jail. Stop people high tailin’ it through the woods.” 

“Maybe both.” Rick said.

“Could be.” Daryl grunted. “Can’t let the others come this way. Too dangerous.”

Rick nodded, if Daryl didn’t notice the trap until he was in it the rest of them barely stood a chance.

\--

It was about a week later. The rumours of how Daryl had been rescued from a bear trap by Rick had finally dissipated and the hunter was no longer glaring at anyone who came within 5 metres of him (save Beth with Judith of course, Daryl was a sucker for that baby). 

Rick had just recently been out on a run and brought home a gift for Carl. He was walking to Daryl’s room (not where he slept, since he slept on the cat walk most nights, but where he kept his things and rested during the day). He knocked, got a grunt in response and pushed the curtain back.

Daryl was sat up against the wall at the head of his bed, using his hunting knife to dig a nail out of the bottom of his shoe. It was rare to see Daryl sitting or reclining in any way and Rick watched him for a second until the hunter looked up at him, not liking being stared at.

“… You want somethin’?” He asked.

Rick pulled out a small piece of yellow lego from his pocket, he went over to Daryl’s side and offered it to him. The hunter frowned, putting down his knife and taking the piece, looking between it and Rick like he was slightly out of his mind and Daryl was humoring him.

“… What’s this?” Daryl asked.

“Lego.” Rick said.

Daryl frowned at Rick, turning the piece over in his fingers.

“… Why you givin’ it to me?” He asked.

Rick shrugged, smiling tiredly. “You said you ain’t never had any, I got some for Carl, figured I’d give one to you.” 

Daryl stared at Rick the whole time he was talking, gaze unwavering. Unusual for the secretive man. He raised a brow, nodded, then tucked the piece into his shirt pocket.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t step on it.” Rick said, “I’m warnin’ you, pain worse than death.”

“Ain’t no pain worse than death.” Daryl replied.

“You only say that ‘cause you ain’t stepped on one.” Rick quipped back. Daryl smirked, a tiny quirk of the lip then picked up his knife again, getting back to work. 

“You bringin’ me presents gonna be a thing now?” He muttered, not looking up. Rick thought about it, walking out of Daryl’s room and grabbing the curtain ‘door’ at the entrance. 

“Not unless you want somethin…?” Rick asked. Daryl looked up at Rick, like he hadn’t thought the other had heard him. He went a little red, quickly looking down from the other’s gaze, grunting in the negative. 

“Naw.” He said, keeping his eyes on what he was doing, still looking pink even in the low light. 

Rick watched him for a moment, “… Okay.” He said, Daryl didn’t look up, “Just-let me know.” He finished, awkwardly. Noting the strange tension in the room and choosing to ignore it, feeling the other’s eyes on his back as he left.

\--

“Rick!” Maggie called, as Rick put the sharp end of a knife through a walker’s head. In true testament to Murphy’s law Rick’s foot, shoeless (don’t ask) had slipped into a drain pipe on the side of the road, he’d gone down, dragged back by his own trapped foot while Glenn and Maggie were already half way up the road, Daryl half way between Rick and them.

Ambling up the road toward them was at least 2 dozen walkers.

Rick was in trouble, his ankle was twisted and he struggled to push the rotting body off of him while dealing with the pain of it shooting up his calf. He heard pounding footsteps and before he knew it Daryl was at his ankle, ripping the knees of his jeans when he dropped to Rick’s side. 

Glenn and Maggie ran past them, sinking their sharp weapons into the walkers ahead of the pack, trying to grab their attention and buy Rick more precious seconds.

Rick couldn’t even twist to look at his foot without making it worse. He hissed while Daryl grabbed his heel and (as gently as the situation allowed) pulled it back out of the drain. 

“You ‘right?” Daryl grunted. Taking a strip of cloth from his back pocket and wrapping it around where Rick’s ankle was already beginning to swell. Rick grimaced but nodded, not saying anything. “Come on then.” Daryl said, tying off the bandage, getting a hand under Rick’s shoulder and pulling him to his feet. 

Daryl half carried him all the way back to the car, his ankle giving Rick so much grief he could barely stand on his own. He thanked the Gods it wasn’t broken as he sat in the back seat, foot up while Maggie looked at it, confirming that it was just twisted, Daryl was in the front seat, watching them and biting his thumb nail.

“Worse than a lego?” Daryl mumbled as he helped Rick into a chair at the prison, quiet enough that only Rick could hear.

Rick actually smiled, the first time since injuring himself so stupidly. Responding before Hershel hobbled over to him to strap his leg.

“Not even close.”

\--

Rick got sick of having a bung leg exactly 10 seconds after it happened.

Imagine that feeling multiplied by a whole week. Yeah. He was pretty damn sore.

“Dad you need to sit down.” Carl said. While his father limped over to the table where Carl was at, carrying a revolver and the pieces to clean it with. Rick frowned at his son, taking a seat.

“I’m sittin’ now.”

“No I mean you need to rest.” Carl said. “Hershel says the longer you keep walking on it the worst it’s going to get.” Carl said, fixing his father with a stern gaze well beyond his years. Looked kind of like how Lori used to look at Rick when he put his feet on the coffee table.

Rick frowned, taking the gun apart. “Yeah, well…” He let the silence hang, looking up at Carl who was not impressed by the response.

“Look, I’m taking it easy, alright? ‘Sides, you’re my son, stop giving me good advice and let a man feel useful would ya?” He mumbled. Carl smiled at him, but didn’t let up. 

“You know-you don’t have to be the boss all the time.” He ventured quietly. Rick looked at his son, frowning deeply, “I mean, we’re alright right now. Daryl, Glenn and Maggie, they’re taking care of things… Carol, Hershel and Beth have got Judith… And the others…” Carl shrugged.

“… I know.” Rick said, tirelessly cleaning the parts he had cleaned twice the day before. 

Carl let him do it. 

“… So, what’s the deal with the lego?” The boy finally asked. “Daryl keeps playing with it when he thinks no one’s looking, it’s kind of weird. Did you give it to him?” He asked, leaning in secretively.

Rick raised his eyebrows, he hadn’t noticed the man playing with the piece, didn’t think he’d even have it anymore since it wasn’t really useful for anything. 

Guess the hunter was more sentimental than he had assumed.

“Yeah I gave it to him.” Rick said. 

“Why?” Carl asked.

“I wanted to.” Rick replied, not really wanting to go into the whole story, it wasn’t that important and he kind of wanted to keep it between him and Daryl. Their own personal inside joke. Maybe that was a bit selfish, but he was feeling that way about it regardless.

“… That’s a weird gift to give to someone.” Carl said.

“Got you some didn’t I?” Rick said lightly, Carl scrunched up his nose.

“Yeah but Daryl’s-old.”

“What you talkin’ about?” A familiar gravelly voice said, startling them. Daryl had managed to creep in, light footed as always, behind Carl as he entered the room, carrying a grocery bag full of supplies. Carl went pink in front of Rick’s eyes and Rick smiled. Carl had been idolising Daryl more recently since he became a bigger part of Judith’s life. After Rick’s… Moment. 

“Nothing!” Carl said quickly. 

“… Didn’t sound like nothin’, sounded like you were talkin’ about me.” Daryl said, looking between Carl and Rick. Rick let Carl boil for a second, caught in the head lights of Daryl’s gaze before he chuckled, putting down the revolver he was handling.

“We were talkin’ about presents.”

Daryl frowned. “Presents?”

“Yeah,” Carl said, levelly. 

Daryl looked between them again, putting down his bag of supplies slowly, like he was still not sure how he came into that kind of conversation.

“… It Christmas soon or somethin’?”

“Could be.” Rick said. Carl caught on fast, happy to be free of the awkward moment earlier. 

“What do you want for Christmas, Daryl?” The boy asked.

Daryl glanced at Rick then focused very intensely on scratching the back of his neck, shrugging and busying himself with unloading supplies. Carl wasn’t as easily deterred though.

“If you could have anything…” Carl said, but kind of asked. Curiosity getting the best of him. 

Daryl hummed with his back to them. 

“… I dunno.” He said finally. Carl deflated in his seat and Rick just smirked while Glenn and Maggie joined them. Carl jumped on the opportunity to ignite more conversation, clearly bored hanging out at home with just his old man. 

Rick didn’t take offense, he hated being cooped up too.

\--

It was just after dawn and Rick was sitting in the watch tower with his bad ankle up. Hershel had finally let up and allowed him to go on watch. Rick had been going stir crazy, as day 10 with his injury fast approached. 

He had a hunting rifle laid across his lap, staring out at the prison gates, watching the walkers build up. Glenn and Maggie were clearing the fence with steel rods and knives. Pushing the built up corpses off, talking among themselves.

Rick smiled to himself, watching them. 

While he was doing so he heard the sound of someone climbing the rungs to the watch tower, then the familiar creak of the hatch opening. He turned, gun held loosely in hand, prepared for the worse always. 

What he got instead was the messy head of Daryl Dixon, carrying a Chinese takeout container, pulling himself up into the watch tower. The hunter nodded at him, mumbling ‘mornin’ then dropped the hatch behind him. 

Rick smiled tiredly, he’d been awake all night, eyeing the couch in the corner of the room as he waited for someone to come relieve him. He’d thought it was going to be Carol today, but she might’ve swapped out for babysitting duty.

“That for me?” Rick asked, as Daryl came over with the container and a plastic spoon.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, handing it to him. Rick cracked the lid, smelt like rabbit, maybe a bit of garlic. They’d got pretty lucky on runs recently. He hadn’t tasted garlic for months.

Rick grinned, eyes creasing and carefully replaced the lid, putting the hunting rifle on the desk in front of him and getting up so Daryl could sit. Daryl nodded at him and dropped into the seat, picking up the rifle and checking the barrel out of habit. 

Rick ambled over to the couch and dropped onto it, putting his legs up and sighing. He wasn’t looking forward to the descent down the ladder. 

“Mind if I eat in here?” He asked. Daryl shook his head. 

“Nope.” He said, looking down the sight of the rifle. 

Rick cracked open the container and started piling the contents into his mouth, relaxing into the cushions of the old couch. He was sure there was some serious history (as far as Maggie and Glenn were concern) on the old piece of furniture but he was well beyond caring. 

The watch tower was silent for a while after that, Daryl getting his bearings with the rifle (Rick suspected Daryl might have a sight impairment, but he never mentioned it) and Rick woofing down his breakfast.

It was about 15 minutes later, while Rick had begun unconsciously dozing on the couch, that Daryl turned, waking the ex-cop from his stupor.

“You gonna sleep in here?” He asked, just above a mumble. Rick went to get up, shaking his head. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the first place, not wanting to distract the other who so liked his solitude.

“No, no sorry I just drifted off for a sec,” He said.

Daryl grunted, biting into the skin of his finger nail, “You can if you want,” He said around the digit, “Don’t mind.”

Rick looked over at the other, trying to gauge his expression. Daryl was unreadable though, except for the nervous chewing on his thumb. He dropped it from his mouth, spinning in his chair to look out the window again.

“You sure?” Rick asked.

“Yeah man, don’t matter,” Daryl mumbled. “I’ll wake ya if anything happens.”

Rick really didn’t want to go down that ladder. Plus, to be honest, he was pretty comfortable and in the best position to defend the prison if he had to, so close to the front gate and with Daryl so close by.

It was about as close to content as one could be in the world they lived in.

“… Alright. Wake me up if I’m snoring.”

“Mm,” Daryl grunted. 

Rick lay back down, shuffling around a little until he was comfortable. One eye open watching Daryl watch the yard. He fell asleep pretty quickly, one second he was awake, the next, nothing.

He woke back up when the sun was almost at its zenith, might’ve been asleep for maybe 3 or 4 hours. Daryl was still in the chair, slumped a little more comfortably and turning something over again and again between his fingers tips, even as his gaze was fixed somewhere else in the distance.

Rick took his time waking, an unusual luxury, just watching the other and the light pouring in around him. 

Daryl cast a look over his shoulder after a minute or two, like he knew he was being watched. He quickly pocketed what he was playing with and eventually turned in his chair, rifle across his lap. 

“… You awake?” He asked.

Rick sighed, shoulders rising and falling, not fully committed to consciousness yet. Daryl kept watching him, finger tapping on the edge of the rifle. Until Rick finally pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“How long was I out?” He murmured, voice gravelly with sleep. He didn’t sleep well anymore, probably hadn’t had solid hours in weeks. He tended to wake up in intervals of about 2 or 3 hours. Had to get up and walk, make sure everything was safe, locked, secure, before he could settle back down again.

Today he felt rested though, like it was a lazy Sunday morning somewhere and he’d cashed in.

“A while,” Daryl said, “Just dropped out like a light, think Glenn and Maggie could hear your snorin’ though.”

“What, from the yard?” Rick asked, smiling sleepily and rubbing his face. “Told ya to wake me.”

“You were sleepin’”

“Hence why you woulda had to wake me.” Rick quipped. Daryl shrugged.

“Not like I ain’t used to it, you were out like a light anyway.”

Rick tried to ignore the warmth that glowed in his chest at that, as well as the funny visual of Daryl sitting there, having to put up with his snoring for hours. But he was right, it wasn’t the first time, the winter had been a long one. You got pretty used to your bed mates.

Daryl bit his thumb nail again, sweeping some of his hair out of his eyes.

“Gotta talk to you about somethin’ anyway.”

Rick looked up at the hunter, sitting there in the morning sun, haloed slightly, like some kind of dirty, rifle wielding, angel. He smiled lightly, yawning and scratching his hair, completely at ease.

“Shoot.” Rick said.

Daryl’s foot began tapping, nervously, against the ground. As if he were tossing up something important in his head. A silence dragged on between them for a while as the man tried to figure out how to word what he wanted to say.

Rick waited.

“… Never mind.”

Rick stared at the other, who swiveled in his chair, shaking his head and looking out the window into the yard. The leader frowned, getting up. 

“What?”

“Forget about it, ‘s’not important.” Daryl said dismissively.

“You can’t set up a question like that and just drop it.” Rick said, coming over to the man, who turned in his chair, pushing himself away from Rick, eyes darting to the hatch, the exit. Rick stopped approaching, could see a man weighing up fight or flight pretty easy after years in the force.

He held up his hands. 

“Daryl, come on, what were you gonna say?”

Daryl shook his head stubbornly, holding the rifle a little tighter. 

Rick stared at the other for a while, both boring holes into each other with their eyes alone, before he finally shook his head, sighing.

“…Alright.” Rick said. That strange tension settling across the air between them again, “But if you’ve got something you need to say, don’t matter what it is, you can tell me. You got that?”

Daryl glanced between the floor and Rick’s face then nodded, once.

Rick sighed again, the strange air between them putting a damper on his morning. He left the watch tower, confused and a little suspicious about the conversation they never had. Sometimes he felt like he and Daryl were closer than earth and sky, then the hunter would pull the rug out from under him and treat him silent for days.

Maybe it was just in the man’s nature. He hoped it was, because if not then there was a problem, something Rick wasn’t seeing which was getting in the way of their friendship.

It took Rick a whole month after that to finally ‘get’ what it was.

\--

Look, in hindsight, going downstairs is almost never a good idea. But sometimes, when there’s a house full of undead careening down a hallway towards a man he’s forced to make stupid choices. 

Rick had his back to a solid concrete wall, in the basement of some country house, front to a doorway full of walkers piling over one another to get to him.

“Hold ‘em off, I got this!” Daryl said, was pushing something behind Rick, knocking shit over, making a racket. It didn’t matter, they were done for. Rick had 5 shot gun shells left and one knife and they had a small hoard trying to push through the one door way in and out.

Rick didn’t look over his shoulder when Daryl yelled ‘cause all he was thinking about was whether or not he should save the last two shells for them.

“Daryl!” Rick cried, looking around, there was a closet in the corner, might be able to hide inside, hold it closed, maybe if they could keep it stuck for a few hours these things’d get tired, get bored. Leave.

Fuck.

There was the sound of glass breaking and Daryl swearing, Rick fired a tremendous shot, knocking down three walkers which had gotten too close. He pushed over a shelf, crushing another, then turned. 

Behind him, Daryl was half way out of the smallest window Rick had ever seen. 

His feet disappeared through and Rick felt fear, utter fear fill him at the abandonment. Mixed with a strange surge relief.

If Daryl made it then maybe his kids would make it, his group, Daryl would go back for them, he’d tell them where he died, where to find the body (or what was left of it).

At least one of them would make it, he thought, turning back to his death, three shells left, one for him. He fired two and took a deep breath.

“Rick!” Daryl cried from through the tiny window, “Come on!”

Rick shoved a walker off, stabbing it through the head, splattered in blood and grime. He turned and Daryl was kicking in the other half of the window pane, covering the shards of it with some tarp from outside. His forearms bleeding from where he’d crawled through broken glass.

Rick stared at the other, because fuck, he was thinner, starved a little, but his shoulders were a little broader than Daryl’s.

“Fuckin’ COME ON!” The hunter yelled, shocking the doubt out of him. 

Rick ran, jumping up on the over turned cabinet and shoving his right arm through the window, he tried to force his left one through but got stuck. 

“Fuck-!” He gasped, half in, half out, he could hear the undead behind him. 

Daryl didn’t even give him time to panic, just took a hold of the sleeve of Rick’s stuck shoulder and pulled like hell. Rick felt himself dislodge a little, used his free arm to push himself through the tiny space, gasping, exhaling, trying to be smaller. Crushed between the solid panes of it, the concrete. Daryl just pulled and pulled, sweat pouring off him, spitting with the effort of it. 

A walker grabbed Rick’s leg and he kicked it away and tried to force himself further through, glass cutting into his shoulder, Daryl heaving him through the tiny space with all of his weight, one foot braced against the wall behind Rick’s head.

Daryl bit his lip, tightened his hold on Rick’s jacket as dead fingers tightened around Rick’s kicking legs and put all his weight into a brutal tug.

Rick’s shoulder popped and he screamed out in pain. Daryl didn’t stop, kept pulling. 

He came loose, just as he felt teeth knawing on the denim of his pant leg. He kicked, hard and Daryl dragged him, groaning in agony, shoulder dislocated, through the window and across the ground. 

“Alright, alright,” Daryl gasped, while Rick lay on his front, trying to breath, the pain excruciating. “Sit up.”

Rick sat up, dizzy and disorientated by the agony. Daryl pulled the jacket off him, no time for finesse, and took his dislocated shoulder in one hand.

“On three,” He said, Rick nodded, gasping, tears pricking the corner of his eye. Daryl didn’t count, just popped the shoulder back into place before Rick had time to tense. 

Rick gasped, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, face pressed into Daryl’s shoulder who patted him on the back firmly. Shushing him like he shushed Judith. Blood pouring from tiny cuts on his arms, Rick could see the small shards sticking out of him when he sat back on his haunches.

“You okay? You bit?” Daryl asked, checking Rick over, trying to look at his legs.

“No, no,” Rick said. 

“You sure?” Daryl asked, frantic, fingers patting him over. Rick nodded, adrenaline still running high. 

Before Rick could assure him a whole crowd of walkers rounded the side of the house. Daryl saw them first, over Rick’s shoulder, grabbed Rick by his good arm and got him on his feet. They ran around the corner, were about to try and make it onto the road when they just spotted MORE.

“Go back, go back,” Rick said. They backtracked. There was a shed beside the house, near the tiny window they’d escaped through. Daryl used a knife to crack the lock on it and they slipped inside before they were spotted. Closing the door after them and pushing a work bench in front of it. 

Rick took up watch near the one window, watching the hoard stumble by them, must’ve been a hundred of ‘em, drawn to the shot gun sounds. He grimaced. 

Daryl was sitting on the bench, picking pieces of glass out of his forearms, stopping the bleeding with torn up bits of rag he’d tore off a sheet he found in a drawer. Rick finally abandoned the window when it was clear they weren’t going to be leaving anytime soon.

He dropped to the floor in front of Daryl, still panting slightly from their near escape, rubbing his sore arm and shaking his head.

In front of him Daryl was watching him closely. 

Rick stared back shaking his head, then laughed, quietly, mindful of the noise.

Daryl watched, frowning, as the chuckles didn’t stop and Rick just covered his mouth, tears in his eyes. He looked up at Daryl, who just smirked a little. Because yeah, that could’ve gone a lot worse.

Rick noticed something sticking out of the bottom of Daryl’s shoe.

“Holy shit,” Rick said. “Your foot.”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, twisting his foot a little. There was a thick shard of glass sticking out of the bottom of his boot. Rick wasn’t an expert, but it looked like some of it might have slid between the leather and into the other’s foot. “Look bad?”

“Kinda, feel bad?”

“… Stings a little.”

Rick got onto his knees, taking the hunter’s foot in his hand. He squinted at it in the low light. There was blood dripping from it. He met Daryl’s eyes while the man wound rags around his bleeding arms, his pupils blown from the rush of survival, clearly not feeling the wound as much as he should have.

“… Want me to pull it out?” Rick asked.

Daryl tied off the improvised bandages on his arms and clung to the work bench below him, frowning and chewing on the inside of his cheek. He took the sheet he had found and tore another strip off it, placing it in his lap, then nodded.

Rick took a hold of the end of the piece of glass and pulled.

Daryl’s entire body shook, he bent in two, inhaling deeply and hissing. Rick dropped the three inch shard on the ground, then unlaced the other’s shoe, pulling it and the other’s sock off to inspect the wound. 

It was a clean slice, straight into the man’s arch. Would’ve hurt like a bitch. He took the strip of rag off Daryl’s lap and wound it around the cut. It would probably be better to stitch it but they didn’t have the supplies for that. 

Daryl grabbed onto Rick’s shoulder, gripping him tightly as he bandaged him. Fingers digging in when he wound over the cut. Not letting go even after it was done. 

Rick looked up at Daryl, who was biting into the back of his fist to keep from crying out. They locked eyes for a second and it was like all that had happened in the past 10 minutes hit them all at once.

Like holy shit, how had they managed to survive that?

“I didn’t think I’d fit.” Rick said.

“Me either.” Daryl replied.

He’d kicked the window in to make sure it happened anyway.

The hunter still had a hand on his shoulder, he squeezed again, twice, then grabbed a fist full of Rick’s hair and fisted his fingers in it. Rick grinned while Daryl smirked, the tension in the room amped, but Rick was there for it now, feeling it, buzzing.

Alive.

He stood up and Daryl pulled him in between his thighs, hooked his good leg around the back of Rick’s waist, still smirking. Their foreheads pressed together. 

Rick wasn’t even sure what they were doing, seemed natural, on the adrenaline high, when he lent forward and pressed their mouths together for one of the dirtiest kisses he had ever been a part of. One he had to brace himself on the table either side of Daryl to stay standing for while Daryl tried to pull his hair out of his head trying for a better angle. 

All he could smell was sweat, blood and motor oil from somewhere in the shed. It was the least romantic kiss he’d ever had and definitely one of the best. 

When Daryl pulled away it was like looking at someone else. Like a light switching on saying ‘hey, idiot, it’s right fuckin’ here’ when he’d been searching for something missing in the dark.

How oblivious could he have been?

“How long?” Rick asked, because there was something about the way Daryl kissed him that told him he’d been thinking about it for a long time. 

Daryl shrugged, “A while.”

Rick went red and was about to say something stupid when Daryl shut him up. 

\--

It was 2 hours until the walkers had dissipated, Daryl was pulling his shirt on, gingerly dropping from the work bench while Rick looked around for his knife. Daryl was still without one shoe on.

Rick had his back to Daryl when the man let out the most colourful swear Rick had heard out of him yet. He spun on the spot, sure that the other must have reopened the cut on his foot. 

Daryl was holding his foot, looking down at a bright yellow object sitting on the floor like it had wronged the entire Dixon line. 

Their eyes met and Rick leant down and scooped it up, holding it out to Daryl who just shook his head darkly, glaring at it.

“Fuckin’ legos.” He growled.

Rick laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep.
> 
> I originally wanted to write a story about Daryl getting caught in a bear trap with a heroic/romantic rescue, however what it turned into was an important commentary on lego and a slow build fluff fic I never asked for.
> 
> I'm going to post this before I decide not to, please excuse any OOC-ness. I wrote this self indulgent fic to counteract how dark the show is, because I like the idea of these characters having lighter interactions in a world where everything is so horribly wrong.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it!  
> Comments and kudos much appreciated xx


End file.
